Enigmatic Emerald
by Spicy Duck
Summary: Eragon, a 15 year old boy, is on the brink of manhood. While hunting one night in the Spine, he stumbles across a discovery that he won't soon forget. The course of his destiny will be altered forever. Idea from SimplySupreme. T for now. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! This is the first story I've posted on FanFiction, so I'm excited to see the responses. I got this idea from SimplySupreme (with permission), who has the most amazing stories, and you should check out if you haven't already! I was just toying around with the idea, so this is my first, and rather short, chapter. I'd like to know if its worth continuing, so please review! I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I borrowed heavily from C.P. for this chapter, so I could get the feel for his writing style. Fear not, however, because it won't happen again!**

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><p>Enigmatic Emerald: Chapter 1<p>

Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before. Soon, they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf or bear catching her. The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with a ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.

Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist. He carried a wood-frame pack.

The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine—he was the only hunter near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses. It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall. Eragon stood with a quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the forest toward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks only occasionally; he knew the way.

At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly. Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three days had led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and—a thunderous roar shattered the night.

The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, ignoring the roar and racing through the grass as a shockwave hit him, accompanied by a resounding boom. He grunted as his knee collided into the ground, before raising his bow in desperation and loosing an arrow after the bounding deer. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into the darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow.

Behind him, where the deer had been, was a massive crater that had uprooted dirt, grass, and trees alike, rupturing the very fabric of the world. Eragon gawked in surprise. His instinct was to flee, running as far away as possible from the mysterious crater. Trepidation filled him, but his curiosity soon overwhelmed all of the mixed emotions that were running rampant through his body. Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved were leaves being gently brushed by the whispering wind. Cautiously, he crept forward to the lip of the crater, keeping his arrow nocked.

Even his myriad of treacherous journeys into the Spine, hiding from bears and wolves thrice the size of him, didn't prepare him for what his eyes took in next. Lying inside of the crater was a monstrous, emerald green dragon. Despite being marred by scores of cuts, some of which were larger than himself, burns, and marks of a struggle, its resplendence was unmatched by any creature Eragon had ever set eyes upon. The dragon was well built, muscle rippling underneath its smooth scales, displaying the prowess the creature had. The scales upon its sides and back were a dark forest green, while those upon its belly and the pads of its feet were lighter, with the smallest ones verging upon white. The dragon's wings were against its body, and they appeared to be the color of holly leaves.

The dragon was buried deep into the crater, giving evidence to the monstrosity of its size and weight. It was a beautiful creature, and Eragon's breath was taken by its radiance, despite the danger he knew he was in.

Immediately upon setting eyes on the beast, Eragon's thoughts strayed to the odd storyteller that resided in Carvahall, named Brom. Brom would often recite stories to the village, some legends and myths, but many of his tales focused on dragons. _He would know what to do in this situation_, Eragon thought. Eragon cleared his mind of his ponderings, and continued to gaze at the dragon.

At the juncture between the dragon's neck and back was a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. Rows of buckles hung off the sides, and the seat seemed to be sculpted out of leather in such a way that looked to provide comfort and mobility. Straps from the saddle encircled the dragon's chest, rigged with slips and knots that looked as if they could be adjusted.

The next sight took his breath away, his mouth popping open slightly as the oxygen rushed from his body, while a pleasant heat suffused his face. Sitting on the elegant saddle was an unconscious woman, whose long, midnight-black hair obscured her face, despite a leather strip bound around her head to hold the tresses back. She was dressed in pants and a shirt made out of dark leather, which hugged her body and clearly displayed her form. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung a beautifully crafted green scabbard with the magnificent hilt of the sword sticking out. Knee-high boots covered her calves and small feet.

As he watched, the gentle breeze caused her hair to flutter to the side, revealing her sculpted face, which was as perfect as a painting. Sarah, the young blue-eyed, blond-haired beauty of Carvahall which he pined after, paled in comparison to this woman. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. The only mar in her beauty was a scrape along her cheek; nevertheless, she was the fairest women he had ever seen.

Eragon's blood burned as he looked at her. Something awoke in him—something he had never felt before. It was like an obsession, except stronger, almost a fevered madness. Then, the woman's hair shifted once more, revealing pointed ears. A chill crept over him. _She's an elf_, he thought, still enraptured by her beauty.

Carefully placing his feet to avoid tumbling forward, he slowly trekked down to the bottom of the crater, toward the magnificent dragon and its stunning Rider. As his feet touched the bottom, his foot bumped into an object that must have fallen from the saddlebags. Glancing down, he gazed upon a polished blue stone, the likes of which he had never seen. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. Warily, he pulled off his gloves and picked it up, allowing his fingers to traverse across the cool and frictionless surface, which was like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have.

_It's humming_, he thought, surprised. The stone was both beautiful and frightening. While he was admiring it, the veins on the surface seemed to shift ever so slightly, catching him off-guard and leaving him wondering if his eyes had deceived him.

As he was gawking at the stone, a voice penetrated the silence, causing him to jump in surprise at the sudden sound.

"Drop it."

He slowly glanced upward, and found himself lost in enigmatic pools of emerald.

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><p><strong>I hope you guys enjoyed it, despite it being brief! I understand there are a lot of "Eragon goes back in timeEragon's life is different" stories, so tell me if it was enjoyable compared to others. Thanks again to SimplySupreme for the idea!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Thanks so much to all the reviewers, I really appreciate the thoughts and constructive criticisms. Since I had such a positive response on the first chapter, I decided to continue on! I know a lot of you are confused about Arya and her dragon, but it will all be explained! **

**Phantomace13- They weren't actually teleported, but Arya's dragon is unconscious! :)**

**Argetsverd- No, this isn't like that! It's a complete re-do of the IC. Some events will be similar, but many will be different!**

**Unique Fantasiser- No, she hasn't been sent back in time! It will all be explained ;) And thanks so much for the advice!**

**Ordgar- I do plan on writing a more mature version, since I was disappointed in CP's completely innocent and non-"spicy" version. woo ;D**

**Thanks so much to all the reviewers- phantomace13, Umbra8191, Argetsverd, Unique Fantasiser, Ordgar, Orlok Tsubodai Bahadur, shurtugal88, eragon0123, Sonof posidion1. **

**I really appreciate it! Without further ado, here is chapter 2! (That rhymed...)**

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><p>Enigmatic Emerald: Chapter 2<p>

As Eragon lost himself within the depths of her eyes, he noted three things. First, the fury etched upon her angelic face rivaled that of a thunder cloud. Second, she held an elegant and masterfully crafted bow in her hands, in which an arrow was nocked. Third, the arrow was pointed straight at his heart. He stood, ridged, as his heart gave a loud thump as feared coursed through his veins. Slowly, as to not provoke the elf to unload her arrow into his body, he gently placed the mysterious stone by his feet and rolled it away from himself. He carefully raised his hands above his head, showing he was unarmed and would not attack.

With speed bordering on inhuman, she gracefully leapt off of her dragon, releasing a grunt from the force of impact. She darted forward, bow still drawn, and picked up the stone. A slight frown marred her perfect features, and she gazed curiously at the stone. It seemed to be humming in her hands, sending off tiny vibrations as she held it. After watching it for a few seconds, the stone's veins shifted once more by a minuscule amount, and she gasped in surprise.

Eragon watched her quietly, and was surprised when she seemingly disappeared, until he felt a dagger at his neck. Panic burst forth, washing through his body as he felt a trickle of blood come forth from where the blade touched his neck. Standing inches in front of him, holding a dagger to his neck, was the elf. She whispered, "Who are you?"

Fearfully, he replied, "E-Eragon, please don't harm me. I live in Carvahall, and I've been hunting for the past few days in order to feed my family." Surprise crossed her features, and her eyes widened ever so slightly. They were inches apart, and the close proximity to her caused his body to respond, a blush creeping onto his face. Then, in a voice so quiet he barely heard, she muttered, "It seems fate is converging upon us…" In a flash, she withdrew the dagger and walked, with a pronounced limp in her left leg, to her dragon. Eragon rubbed his neck, fingering the cut that had been left behind. He watched, confused, as the elf woman placed a hand on the unconscious dragon, caressing its scales as one would a friend or lover. Her eyes glazed over as she stood there, and Eragon began to creep away from her, planning an escape in his mind.

"Carvahall, you said?"

He cursed under his breath. She seemed to be aware of every move he made. "Yes" he replied, "you know of it?"

She turned to him with a curious look upon her face. As she was staring at him, he felt an odd nudge in his mind. His hand shot up to his head, to make sure he hadn't been hit by something. As he was feeling his head, a small smirk presented itself on the elf's face, and he wondered at her amusement. Had he done something funny? As he replayed every movement and word of his to make sure that he hadn't done something stupid, the woman turned back to her dragon.

Suddenly emboldened, he asked, "Is it dead?" The elf shot him a sharp glance, her eyes tightening slightly in annoyance. "No, he is not dead," She replied, putting a slight emphasis on 'he', "He is only injured, and must be healed quickly to prevent any further complications. However, the severity of his wounds worries me, and I will need assistance in order to save him." Eragon nodded, understanding the importance of healing a wound soon after infliction, having been hurt many times in his life. "I know someone who may be able to help. He seems to know a lot about dragons." At this, she turned to him in surprise, and released a chuckle. "A human well-versed in the knowledge of dragons? I have yet to meet one."

He was insulted, but still deigned give a reply to the beauty in front of him. "His name is Brom."

As Brom's name left his lips, she gasped in surprise and, hurriedly gathering a few supplies, insisted that Eragon bring her to him. He noticed that she placed the odd blue stone inside of a traveling pack, which she threw over her shoulder. Before leaving, she faced her dragon and murmured a few words so quietly, Eragon couldn't make them out. A shimmer surrounded her hand, before slowly fading away. He gawked, too nervous to say anything. She faced him, saying, "I'm ready."

To say he was confused was an understatement, but he complied with the elf's orders, knowing that angering her would not be beneficial to him. The village elders had always warned him to stay away from strange occurrences, especially since he was one of the few still brave enough to traverse the Spine, but they would never have expected something such as this to occur. He thought about the way her hand glowed, and knew it to be magic. He was terrified at the prospect that she, a woman, could destroy him in an instant with a single word. Brom's stories warned against the potency of such magic. The villagers of Carvahall were told to run in the other direction should they confront a magician, because there was no hope in fending them off.

Even though he was afraid, he harbored a small trust in her, considering she hadn't killed him yet and because she knew Brom, to whom he was close.

Despite the fact that he hadn't slept in over a day, the adrenaline rushing through him allowed him to push through the weariness that was starting to settle into his body. He led the elf through the rough game trail that was faintly worn and, in places, non-existent. After hours of traversing the rough land, he began to feel the toll of the previous day. Upon seeing his state, the elf declared he sleep for a few hours. He argued that the health of her dragon was at stake, but after much insistence from the elf, he finally relented, and laid his head down on the soft grass.

The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow. The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools were completely frozen over. The elf handed him a loaf of bread, and asked that he "Eat along the way, so Carvahall will come into our sights sooner." He noticed the elf occasionally looked back, as if to check if there was anyone following them.

"You can relax, the birds sing brightly and the sounds of the forest are plentiful, indicating that nothing dangerous is nearby." The elf's eyes landed upon his own, as if searching for some key that unlocked his soul. He flushed as she smiled and replied, "That is sound advice. However, those that I am wary of can travel as silent as a fox, and wouldn't alert the animals of their presence." Slightly disturbed by the underlying tone of her statement, he let the matter drop.

They kept up at a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared. In late afternoon, they arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. They soon encountered the sound of the Igualda Falls blanketing everything with the dull sounds of a thousand splashes. The trail led them onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down mossy cliffs.

At the outcropping, they gazed upon Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings with smoke rising from their chimneys, defying the wilderness surrounding it. From where they stood, the farms appeared to be no bigger than small patches on clothing, and the people were comparable to fleas in size. They left the outcropping and started down the winding trail. When they reached the bottom, the sun was beginning its slow descent, and night was close to falling. The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs—some thatched, others shingled. Each building had a wide porch, where people could gather to talk and conduct business.

As they neared the village, Eragon glanced at the elf, concerned about her beauty being revealed to the people of Carvahall, who would no doubt be as entranced as he was. She looked at him, and, seemingly reading his thoughts, pulled a hood over her features, obscuring them in darkness. She told him, "Would it not be odd to see a village boy escorting a mysterious woman? I suggest you pull your hood up too." Hastily complying with her order, Eragon pulled his hood over his face. They wove their way between the houses to Brom's residence, avoiding contact with the villagers. Eragon lightly rapped on the door, before he removed his hand and waited for Brom to answer.

Eragon could hear heavy footsteps inside the house, accompanied with a creative string of curse words. The door swung open heavily, and Brom glanced at him, asking, "What is it, boy? It's almost nightfall, and you should be—" His sudden pause resulted from his glance at the woman beside Eragon, who was patiently waiting for Brom to finish.

"Vinr Älfakyn, it has been quite a long time."

As the elf said this, Brom's eyes widened, and he quickly ushered them inside of his house. Inside, the house was darker than charcoal, an acrid smell heavy in the air. Eragon wrinkled his nose at this, showing his displeasure of the scent.

"Now, for a light." Eragon heard the old man move around, then a low curse as something crashed to the floor. "Ah, here we go." A white spark flashed; a flame wavered into existence. Brom stood with a candle before a stone fireplace. Stacks of books surrounded a high-backed, deeply carved wooden chair that faced the mantel; the four legs were shaped like eagle claws, and the seat and back were padded with leather embosses with a swirling rose pattern. A cluster of lesser chairs held piles of scrolls. Ink pots and pens were scattered across a writing desk.

Brom quickly removed the scrolls from the chairs, emptying two for Eragon and the elf to sit upon. As they took their seats, the elf removed her hood, letting it gently fall down to her shoulders. Gasping, Brom suddenly stood up, and in a curious gesture, twisted his right hand and placed it over his sternum, and spoke in a language Eragon didn't recognize.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin, Arya Dröttningu."

Eragon was dumbfounded at Brom's speech. He tensed, suddenly aware that Brom was more than he appeared to be. He listened quietly, hoping to pick up more information.

With a slight smirk, the elf, presumably Arya, responded, "Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr, Brom—". It seemed the elf was going to say more, but she quickly cut off her reply after glancing at Eragon, seemingly suspicious of him. Brom didn't miss the glance, but ignored it. "Arya, I presume that you've met Eragon?" she nodded, and he continued on, "I know, from what Garrow told me, that Eragon went on a hunting trip to obtain food for the upcoming winter, but I would have never expected him to come back with an elf from—" A sharp squeak rung through the air, causing all three to jump violently. They jumped up and yanked their hunting knives out of their sheaths. The door to the house was closed. Eragon begun searching for a mouse or rat, but after looking over at Brom and Arya, he froze. Looks of absolute surprise were present on their faces, and Brom managed to say, "You have th—".

"Yes." Arya replied, cutting Brom off mid-sentence. Slowly pulling the traveling pack from her shoulders, she unstrapped it and gently removed the deep sapphire blue stone, which emitted another squeak. Brom let out a strangled sound before forcing himself silent, gawking in utter surprise and elation at the mysterious stone. Arya slowly placed the stone on the ground. The stone, previously unmoving, began to rock rapidly, rolling across the floor at a furious pace. Eragon slowly crept forward, entranced by the beautiful stone's motion. The motions stopped, but he remained tense. After a few tense minutes, the stone started squeaking and rocking faster than ever.

The rocking stopped; the stone became quiet. It quivered, then rolled forward and dropped onto the floor with a loud thump. Eragon looked up at Brom and Arya and, reassured by their confounded expressions, remained where he was. Suddenly, a crack appeared on the stone, then another and another. At the top of the stone, where all the cracks met, a small piece wobbled, as if it were balanced on something, then rose and toppled to the floor. After another series of squeaks, a small dark head poked out of the hole, followed by a weirdly angled body.

Soon the creature was all the way out of the stone. It stayed in place for a moment, then skittered into the candlelight. Eragon recoiled in shock. Standing in front of them, licking off the membrane that encased it, was a dragon. It was no longer than his forearm, yet it was dignified and noble. Its scales were a deep sapphire blue, the same color as the stone.

"It was an egg!" he exclaimed, surprising Brom and Arya and causing the baby dragon to spin towards him. The dragon fanned its wings, which were several times longer than its body and ribbed with thin fingers of bone that extended from the wing's front edge, forming a line of widely spaced talons. The dragon's head was roughly triangular. Two diminutive white fangs curved down out of its upper jaw. They looked extremely sharp, as did its claws, which were white, like polished ivory, and slightly serrated on the inside curve. A line of small spikes ran down the creature's spine from the base of its head to the tip of its tail. A hollow where its neck and shoulders joined created a larger-than-normal gap between the spikes.

Despite its scantiness and its petite size, Eragon thought it was even more beautiful than the green he-dragon he saw earlier. This dragon was gorgeous, and the deep sapphire color was a favorite of his.

Eragon kept very still while Brom, Arya, and the sapphire dragon watched him. The dragon slowly crept toward him, their gazes locked as they both realized the impact the next moment would have on their lives. Tentatively, Eragon reached out with his right hand to caress the baby dragon. His hand contacted with the dragon's snout, and a blast of icy energy surged into his hand and raced up his arm, burning in his veins like liquid fire. He fell back with a wild cry. As Eragon was falling, every part of his body seared with pain. He felt a pair of arms catch him. His body couldn't hope to block the unbearable pain. His eyes inevitably closed as his ears made out a slight humming noise, lulling him into an unconscious state.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Remember to review and let me know how it was. Everything regarding Arya, her dragon, and the new I.C. I've created will be explained next chapter!<strong>

**In case anyone was wondering, I plan on making weekly updates. Unless, of course, I'm stricken with an inspiration to write, and I spit another chapter out within a few days! See y'all next chapter! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey readers! Sorry for the delay between updates. No excuses. I will have next chapter up much sooner, however! **

**I'm nervous about this chapter. I made some major changes to the Inheritance Cycle, so the characters will better fit my story. Tell me how you feel about the changes! Feel free to rip it apart if they're that bad. ;)**

**Argetsverd - I love ExA. Plus, I made some changes in the chapter that might help their situation! I'll just end it there.**

**MrBlack103 - I actually don't like it myself. I prefer my original writing, so I can see how I'm doing. Thanks so much for looking out for grammar errors! I'll probably miss a few.**

**Orlok Tsubodai Bahadur - You have a really long name. And, maybe... maybe. We'll have to wait and see ;)**

**Ordgar - No worries! I love replying anyway :)**

**And thanks so much to all of the other reviewers! You guys make me happy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own CP's characters. If I did, the I.C. would have ended much differently! ;)**

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><p>Enigmatic Emerald: Chapter 3<p>

He drifted in his unconscious state, alternating between dreams in the blink of an eye. Eragon felt like he was floating along the rifts of time, challenging the very fate of the universe. His dreams flickered to and fro, filling him with feelings of elation and dread, splendor and defeat. He witnessed every profound occasion of his life as they flashed before him. Eragon witnessed the trials of his life, such as catching his first deer, becoming snared in his own trap, and scraping himself on his scythe.

As Eragon was flitting among his memories, he felt a slight tugging sensation. He felt himself falling, tumbling endlessly before alighting softly upon a bed of grass.

_As he stood up and brushed the loosened grass and dirt from his clothing, he took in his surroundings. He was standing in an eerily familiar meadow of a beautiful forest. Confusion swept through his body as he recognized the place. It was the very meadow where he honed his hunting skills with his uncle as a child. As his mind was racing with the implications of what was occurring, voices reached his ears. Someone was coming. Not wanting to be caught standing in the middle of an odd meadow, he quickly dove behind a nearby tree. _

_The talking figures walked into Eragon's view. One was a grown man, burly and tall, whose every step exuded strength. His arms, a testament to the hard life of manual labor he lived, held a scythe in them. The other figure was a boy, who was ten years old at the most. He bounded forward with every excited step and seemed to have a huge grin on his face. His vivacity seemed to rub off on the older man, as they were both conversing and laughing loudly. _

_As they drew close enough for Eragon to make out their features, he inhaled sharply. It was Uncle Garrow and himself, several years ago. Garrow's features were smoother, and only a few laughing wrinkles populated his face. His head was covered with voluminous chestnut hair, and he didn't stoop while he walked. _

_The younger Eragon was several feet shorter, and a smile sat undimished upon his face. Every portion of his body was smaller, and he didn't have any pronounced muscles._

_As Eragon watched, he saw Garrow touch the younger Eragon's arm, signaling him to halt. Garrow put down his scythe and reached into his pack to retrieve a miniature bow. Eragon smirked as little Eragon's face lit up in delight. The 'bow' held a closer resemblance to a twig and a string than the powerful longbow Eragon now used. _

_Little Eragon eagerly reached for the bow in Garrow's hands. Garrow denied Eragon, and began to explain the proper procedure of everything a bow entails: How to make one, unstring one, clean one, and use one to hunt. Little Eragon watched with a solemn expression, absorbing everything his small ears and eyes could take in. _

_Finally, Garrow gave little Eragon the bow, and showed him how to fire it. The memory began to fade away as little Eragon raised the bow and fired it at a tree with unerring accuracy._

The thunk of the arrow contacting with the tree faded away, and Eragon felt himself slowly falling back into his dreams.

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><p>Arya watched, alert, as Eragon tentatively reached his hand forward to touch the beautiful sapphire hatchling. He loosed a wild cry and fell backwards. She darted forward to catch him before he collided into the floor, watching as his eyes slowly closed. She smiled, remembering the first time she met Fírnen, her lifelong partner.<p>

_She was filled with grief at the time, but the minute her eyes alighted upon the gorgeous emerald egg, she knew everything would be resolved. At that moment, she was filled with such a peace and acceptance that it toppled any emotion she'd ever felt before. She caressed the egg every day and night, and within time, it hatched for her. For her. She, who had never amounted to anything in her insignificant life. Fírnen was the one to save her life, and he was the one who would eventually promote her to protect her people's lives._

A ghost of a smile graced her face. She glanced down at the boy in her arms. _Little does he know, he will be the hope of thousands, and he will change the world. _She laid him down on a couch in Brom's house, before again occupying her chair.

She looked toward Brom, and was surprised to see a fond smile on his face while he gazed at Eragon. She raised an eyebrow, but refused to ask him any personal questions. She cleared her throat, and he quickly sobered up and sat down in his armchair. They sat for several minutes like that, enjoying the silence and riding along their emotional highs at the prospect of a new Rider.

She was slightly contempt at the fact that the boy was a human, but she knew better than to doubt him too much. Brom was revered among her people, and she trusted his judgment more than she would any other person. She definitely had reservations about this young boy called Eragon, but everyone is young, and everyone will grow.

She let out a sigh, and Brom looked up at her.

"I suppose I have much explaining to do." She said. "Well, I can start wit—".

"Wait" Brom said, "People may be listening."

Brom stood up and cast wards against listening and scrying around the room. Arya silently thanked him with a nod of her head.

"Now, begin." said Brom, motioning towards her with his hand.

Knowing her explanation would take quite a while, Arya shifted in her chair in an attempt to get comfortable.

"Thirty-five years ago, the same year I was born, a plan was conceived to steal the remaining eggs in Galbatorix's cache. The elves devised to call together the most renowned scholars of Alagaësia. Their mission was to analyze history, studying poems, songs, and books that could contain hints of a secret passageway into Illirea, now known as Urû'baen. Nineteen years flew by before we noticed. Thousands of literary works had been scoured, translated, and analyzed in an attempt to find the secret passageway.

In these years, I learned. I learned of royalty and its accompanying responsibilities. I learned of the history of the Great War, and the twisted mind of Galbatorix. I learned of the atrocities he'd committed. I learned of the times before the war, and my longing for such a time grew. I learned of the power of my people before this catastrophe. I learned the skills of an accomplished fighter and magician. Most of all, I learned to love, but I also learned to fear and to hate. I hated the monster who called himself a King. I hated the terrible, twisted creature that accompanied the body of this human, and I hated what he stood for.

More than anything else, I wanted to fix the wrongs he had committed. I wanted to contribute something to my people, the people who had lost so much. I wanted to change something, whether it is one person, a group of people, Ellesméra, or Alagaësia as a whole. I'd never felt such a burning passion in my short life, but I knew it was my fate to dedicate myself to this cause.

So I did. After those nineteen long and painful years flew by, a spark of hope was ignited. A young man, a scholar by the name of Jeod, wished to join the Varden. He claimed to have discovered evidence of a hitherto-secret tunnel that led into the elf-built portion of the castle in Urû'baen" said Arya.

"And then I met my dear friend, Jeod" said Brom, with a smirk.

"Yes. You did. As I'm sure you know, we sent in a troop of our finest warriors and deadliest magicians. However, my-" Arya broke off, her voice rendered incapable from the influx of emotions she was experiencing. She cleared her throat and threw on her trademark impassive face, determined to tell her tale without a hitch.

"My father, King Evandar, wholly dedicated to his country and its people, decided he would journey with the party to complete the task. He was faced with much disapproval, but he couldn't deny the chance to help the country he loved. This was such a vital mission in the war effort against Galbatorix, and since King Evandar survived The Fall itself, he felt it his responsibility to somehow repay the lives that were lost. He was one of the most accomplished swords master and magician of the elves, too, so he would be a valuable asset on a mission such as this.

The mission went off without a hitch, and the party was able to successfully enter the castle without so much as a scuffle. When they reached the throne room, however, Hefring, with reasons unknown to all, killed the other…" she paused, taking a deep, calming breath, before continuing "… killed the other party members, including my father. He stabbed as quickly as a viper when they weren't looking, and he left their bodies to rot in the mad King's castle. He only stole two eggs, and left the last one."

Arya closed her eyes, and slowly began to shut down the repressed memories and emotions. She was only nineteen at the time, and the news of her father's death had torn her apart. Arya was her father's little girl, doted upon by Evandar with such loving care and affection. She missed him terribly, even after sixteen years.

She opened her eyes with a sudden determination to finish the rest of her story.

"Shortly after Hefring's murderous plots had been unveiled, hundreds of elves were set off to locate him. He was found a few months later. We secured the eggs and brought Hefring to Ellesméra, where he was executed under the treasons he committed on that mission.

Then, we began our search for the new Riders. The two eggs were beautiful. One was the sapphire egg you saw tonight, while the other held the most beautiful emerald hue. Miraculously, the emerald egg hatched within a week, in the very city of Ellesméra."

"One week? That's unheard of!" exclaimed Brom. "Who did the dragon hatch for?"

Slowly, Arya removed the leather glove from her right hand. She turned her palm upward, and heard Brom's sharp intake of breath.

"You!" Brom shouted. "I couldn't imagine a better Rider! This is a fantastic turn of fate. I can't believe events have played out this way. This is definitely a hopeful sign for the future!" Brom continued his mumblings to himself, exuberant due to the news he just received. "But, wait." Said Brom, "Where is your dragon?"

Arya sighed. "Fírnen is in a meadow in the Spine, in need of medical attention. My energy was too depleted to heal him at the time when I first met Eragon. His injuries are not currently life-threatening, but they will be if given a few days to fester. We need to heal him as soon as possible. We were ferrying the egg between the elves and the humans, as we always do, when we were ambushed by a Shade and his Urgal minions. We were able to escape, but we depleted all of our energy and energy reserves in the process and we crashed right near Eragon's hunting grounds. Luckily, he knew you, and brought me to you as soon as possible. I came here to seek your assistance in healing my dragon."

Brom processed her request for a minute, before gazing into the fire that was crackling beside his armchair. "You have given me much to think upon, Arya. Of course, I'll assist you in the morning. However, you need to rest right now. We can leave at daybreak to heal your dragon."

Arya nodded, before heading off into the spare bedroom. On her way out, a smile lit up her face as she glanced at the sapphire dragon and its sleeping Rider.

Her last thought before drifting off to sleep: _Together, we can change the world._

* * *

><p><strong>Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Now keep in mind: In this story, Arya was never imprisoned. Her personality will lean more toward optimism than pessimism, unlike how she was for the first three books. However, I hope to keep her basic personality the same, despite the fact that she'll be happier.**

**Let me know how you felt about the chapter and its changes. Did you like it? Dislike it? Absolutely love or hate it? Make sure you give me feedback! Until next time!**


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